


No Dress Code: New Year's Eve

by GuileandGall



Series: No Dress Code [15]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Rock Star
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 22:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13200306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GuileandGall/pseuds/GuileandGall
Summary: Parties aren’t supposed to be boring, especially when ringing in the new year. Furia and Eli are quick to find their own way to ring in the coming year.





	No Dress Code: New Year's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a gift for my dear friend and partner in all sorts of debacles Close, also @bosselimitchell. Happy holidays and new year! I truly hope you’ll enjoy it.

**-1-**

Midnight crept closer, the minutes of the year falling astride the anticipation of the change in the calendar. Furia grabbed a glass of champagne and fell into a chair. Johnny perched on the arm of a sofa, his keen eyes always moving behind the shades he wore day and night. Sometimes she wondered if he might actually just wear them to hide the fact he was napping.

“Tired?” he asked, shattering her illusion.

“No. Bored.”

“No one that can keep up with you?”

“Not on the dance floor, at least,” she said. The glass brushed her mouth, bubbles tickling as they popped against her blood red pout.

Johnny just chuckled. “Might be a while yet.”

Furia’s eyes remained on her lover. Her husband, she reminded herself as her thumbnail caught on the band of the ring on her left hand. It was still rather new, but somehow felt the same though not at the same time.

Surrounded by pretty faces, all of which gave him dreamy adoring looks, Eli seemed content, or at least amused for the time being.

“You really don’t mind that?” Johnny asked. The question seemed like it came out of left field. Sure, sometimes the two of them talked, but it tended to be a rarity and they almost never discussed anything resembling their personal lives, especially Furia and Eli’s.

“What?” she said, looking up at him and not entirely certain what he meant.

“That.” His chin nudged toward where she had been looking a moment earlier.

Furia chuckled. “No, I think I’d be more worried if he wasn’t flirting with everyone.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Does it bother you?”

Johnny’s shoulders slid back a hair. “Why would it?”

“Not what I meant,” she said with a laugh. Furia leaned on the arm of her chair and peeked up at him. “If your wife was flirting with someone else, would you worry?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust her.”

“Exactly,” Furia said.

“Except my wife hasn’t slept with anyone else since we got married.”

“You hope,” Furia replied, leaning back in her chair. Her brow cocked upward as the champagne flute met her lips again.

Johnny’s chin dipped, his pale, intense eyes pinning her to her seat.

“Hey!” She held her hands up in a mock show of surrender. “I hope for your sake she’s the most faithful woman on the planet. But not everyone is built that way.” For emphasis, she let her eyes pass over him in a suggestive manner—Johnny was one of the few people Eli and Furia could agree that they’d both love to get in bed. “And Eli’s one, but then so am I.”

Johnny’s brow crinkled over dark lenses and Furia laughed.

“Oh, please, tell me you’ve imagined me sitting at home every night, just pining,” she taunted.

He was silent for a long time, longer than Furia expected.

She laughed quietly into her quickly emptying glass. “No, he’s not the only one. You just get to witness his escapades.” It didn’t happen as often in her case, but she was not Eli’s little woman—ring or no ring—but she did love the giddy bastard more than might be healthy. “Plus, tonight, as cute, sexy, adorable and willing they all are, I know exactly who the shirtless wonder is leaving with.”

Johnny just chuckled softly, clearing his throat with another tip of is chin. “Speak of the devil.”

“Which devil?” Eli asked, falling into Furia’s lap.

“You, of course,” she said, wearing a wide grin when he bent over to kiss her. It was consuming, the pressure of his mouth on hers, the insistence of his tongue as it invaded her mouth. She could taste a hint of juniper still on his tongue, and though she wasn’t a big fan of gin she had developed a taste for it—at least when it was delivered like that.

His nose brushed her, aqua eyes blinking and filling her gaze. “I’m bored.”

Hers was not the only laughter that admission drew, though Johnny’s bore a shred of professional reserve. “That’s because you were surrounded by sycophants.”

Eli smirked. “True, and I do so prefer when it’s you sucking … up to me.”

Her head fell back, and her laughter peeled around them. Eli’s fingers twirled in the silky, black waves of her hair. He tightened his grip and gave a gentle tug, she inched forward letting him bring her lips to meet his once more.

“I’ll grab the champagne and meet you in the elevator,” he said, nipping her bottom lip.

“And if I’m not ready to leave.”

Eli pouted at her, pairing it with that damnable kittenish expression of his. Furia knew she had the willpower to stand up against it, but she almost never did. She tended to give into it rather than wasting time being too awful stubborn, especially when combined with and pitted against one another she and Eli could find themselves at an impasse too quickly.

“I’d like to take you upstairs.”

“You would?” she asked.

“Yes, I’d like to hear you screaming my name for the New Year.” Calloused fingertips grazed her jaw, tilting her head upwards.

Furia smiled. It sounded like a hell of an improvement to singing Auld Lang Syne to her. She grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket, pulling him in for another hard kiss. “I’ll meet you there.”

Johnny gave her a nod as he passed her chair, following his charge. Furia polished off the last of her champagne and laid the flute on the tray of a passing waiter. There wasn’t much about this party that suited her or Eli—no dancing, stale music, and it was far too black tie and refined. The roughest edge in the room was Eli and the other members of Pirate Hole. Earlier in the night, she had been positive that Pierce and one of the record executives was going to burst a blood vessel when Eli tried to change the vibe of the event. Furia couldn’t recall ever seeing a vein in someone’s temple balloon like that.

By the time she crossed the room, Eli and Johnny were both standing in the lift waiting for her. Eli leaned against the back wall, looking up at her with a heat in his gaze that burned across her bare skin. Her hazels eyes met his vibrant stare; each step she took toward him accentuated the lithe shift through her hips of the rhythm that rested in her very bones.

She loved that man, would do anything for him. And with the way he looked at her, all she really wanted to do was feel his skin against hers. When she reached him, her fingers skimmed up the center of his bare chest and inspired a wolfish grin to curl across his lips. _Dios_ , she breathed. And in that moment, she was entirely his and wanted it no other way.

Somewhere at the edge of her mind, she was conscious of the fact that Johnny shared the elevator with them, but only minimally. Her attention and thoughts were tied up with Eli’s tongue and the way his hands blazed a trail over her skin. When he pulled her thigh up over his hip, Furia purred against his mouth, breaking their kiss and watching his face as his hand slid up her leg. The upward tug of his lips was telegraphed in the crinkle at the corners of his eyes.

“And what do we have here, love?” he growled. His fingers teased across the apex of her thighs, at least a little surprised not to be greeted by the silky softness of silk.

“You know damn well what that is.”

“I do.”

“And you think you’re the only one who can plan ahead?” she teased.

Eli’s grin widened. “Just rare that you’re gallivanting about in public without any knickers.”

“Thought you could do with a little surprise.”

**-2-**

His lips met hers again, his fingers going about their tickling and teasing in a more pointed manner. He took full advantage of the long elevator ride from the ballroom to their penthouse hotel suite, pinning her between his body and the wall.

“E,” she mumbled against his mouth in a breathless way.

He was a bit more conscious of Johnny’s presence than she seemed to be at the moment, though for that Eli only had himself to blame. “Hmm?” he replied, still making long, strokes through her folds and plucking at her pert clit.

In his relentless pursuit of her pleasure, he nipped at the thin skin of her neck, knowing just what might push her over the edge. Of course, reaching that peak would be easier if he could peel Furia out of that dress. He also knew that might just put a cold end to things too. Her exhibitionism had its limits, though this was quite farther than he’d managed to lead her in previous occasions.

Her nails scratched against his scalp, her hand tightening delightfully in his hair—the sensation sent a jolt of lightning straight to his groin. Shifting his hips against hers, Eli’s attentions inched her closer until her heavy breathing echoed in his ears. Then the elevator chimed their arrival.

“We’re here,” a low calm voice stated, somehow breaking through the frenzy of biology and chemistry that enveloped the couple, while the ring had not.

Eli left her on edge, placing distance between the two of them. Furia huffed at him, a hint of a whine on the edge of it. He flashed her a cheeky grin, taking her hand in his and pulling her into their suite.

Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he knew his bodyguard would make the rounds of the place, check the rooms, the closets, the balcony with the pool, everything to ensure no one who shouldn’t be there had somehow hidden away. But all that really registered for him in that moment was the shift of Furia’s hips and the few inches higher her hemline fell. When she let go of his hand and walked past him, toward the window, he stared at her ass, at least until her hands curled behind her back.

A smile of appreciation curled across his mouth and he set the unopened bottle of champagne on the counter in order to peel off his jacket. His eyes never left her. The zipper lowered, dark fabric parting to reveal coppery flesh artfully painted with tattoos which rivaled his own—though his ink cover more sheer acreage than hers did. While Eli might spend his much of his life on stage, Furia was equally skilled at putting on a show, he thought as she turned. With each careful step she put a little more distance between them, holding her dress up all the while.

“Pardon me,” Johnny mumbled, crossing between them.

“You should stay awhile. She’s just getting to the good part,” Eli said with a rumbling growl. It was more of a game now, suggesting Johnny join them. Of course, if he ever took either of them up on it they both might just fall out in shock, or trip over each other with eagerness.

His thumb ticked the platinum band on his finger. He’d never thought of it as an anchor, something tacking him down to one person, one single role—though he imagined that must be what it was like for his bodyguard. Locked into monotony by monogamy. Sure, Eli had tasted the delicacies of the world, drunk deep from the cup of life. And in all the love he made, Furia was one of the rare ones.

The two of them were like those stars, the ones that paired off and rotated around one another. Threatening to fall into one another and destroy their corner of the universe in a massive explosion, but they never did. They just danced around each other, taking everything and everyone around them along for a fiery ride.

“Mmhmm,” Gat mumbled before disappearing into the other bedroom in the suite. The door clicked behind him.

Eli grabbed the bottle once more and crossed the room in Furia’s wake, toeing out of his boots as he went. With one hand, he undid his belt and started unbuttoning his fly. His gaze intent upon her now. “Well, love?”

Furia smirked at him, her head lowering as those smoldering hazel eyes stared him down. He loved the challenge in her gaze, that hint of _make me_ that lingered behind the adoration, which was far different than the look he got from groupies and fans at the edge of the stage who screamed his name until they couldn’t speak. She knew him; crept into the dark spaces of his soul and witnessed what sent other people running for cover. She didn’t just want the famous bass player with the aversion to clothing, who sported the Sailor Jerry tattoos; no, she wanted him, all of him, even the sharp bits that left her with scars, the rough bits that could rub her nerves raw, and the shadowy bits that somehow, she could bring a warm light to.

When the fabric of her dress slithered over the curve of her hips and down his legs, Eli’s pulse pounded in his neck, the beat reverberating through his groin. Popping the last button loose, he walked right out of his trousers, taking long steps to make up the distance between them with even more haste. The bottle clunked against a small table and a single step later Eli slipped an arm around her waist as his mouth met hers in a feverish kiss. His other hand pressed against the window in an attempt to keep them from crashing against it too hard, but he felt the puff of her breath in his mouth.

The collision—his body with hers, hers with the window—didn’t break their kiss. Quite the contrary, she held on tighter; arms draped over his shoulders and one of her legs curling up the outside of his leg until it rested over his hip again. It was an irresistible invitation, even for a man with far more willpower than Eli felt willing to exude in that moment.

His hand left the glass, sneaking beneath her shapely rear. With a shift of his hips, his cock slid against her; warm and welcoming, her body canted in reply. The barest pressure of two fingers, a snap of his hips, and their kiss broke in a chorus of low moans of satisfaction as he entered her. Their eyes locked, lips brushing against one another and trading heavy breaths, as they moved together in a dance they knew so well but never tired of.

“Eli,” she said. Her gaze darted to the side a moment.

He reluctantly glanced away from her, a smirk twisting his lips with a glance at the wavy chair. He knew what she wanted—for him to be her stage, for him to let her thrill her attentive and appreciative audience of one. Before complying, Eli stole another kiss, except it wasn’t really stealing when she parted her lips so readily.

**-3-**

Furia chirped around his tongue, when he lifted her off the ground. He always managed it easily, but sometimes it still caught her off guard. He broke the kiss before he dared more than a few steps, clearly not wishing to drop her. She took his averted attention as a chance to get in her licks, quite literally. She ran her tongue up the length of his neck, placing a firm bite just beneath his jaw.

A hum hung in his throat and she threaded her fingers through his hair, which only intensified the sound. Her hand tightened and twisted. Once he sat down, she gave his hair a hearty tug, wrenching his head back and his mouth open. She took full advantage of it and her tongue flicked against the inside of his upper lip. She pulled away enough to see the hunger in his eyes, then she did it once more, this time sealing their lips as her tongue plunged deeper.

Eli’s fingers dug into her thighs as Furia used her body to ease him back into the curve of the chair. He growled, almost disagreeably when her fingers loosened and slipped out of his hair. Her touch grazed down both sides of his neck until her hands rested against his pecs, which he flexed—just for her benefit, she knew.

They were both visual creatures; Furia had a bit more of a kinetic streak than Eli—she loved to touch and be touched. Eli liked a rough touch, attributing it to dampened and damaged nerves. Light touches didn’t really do it for him, but bite him, scratch him, mark him with a throbbing hickey and he could croon. Furia liked it all—gentle and ethereal or bruising. Even as her hips rocked against his, she could feel the dull ache of a thick purple blotch he had sucked onto the inside of her thigh nights earlier. He’d placed it perfectly so that every time she shifted down onto his cock, the bony part of his pelvis bumped it.

The combination of sensations unfurled across her face in a greedy grin. Her fingernails gouged down his chest, lighter up near his shoulders, but as her hands neared his belly button she left angry red marks—his hiss, her reward. Then she drew her hands up the length of her own body, teasing at her breasts as she found a sensual rhythm that rolled through her entire body.

Under Eli’s gaze, her skin tingled as if he’d touched it. When his eyes flicked down to the juncture of their bodies, to watch himself enter her, goosebumps raced along her thighs.

At the edge of hearing, voices raised here and there beyond that room, beyond the two of them. Perhaps it was the television from the other room, perhaps the crowd in the streets below or in the ballrooms downstairs. But still the countdown to the New Year reverberated through their room, through their bodies. His hand cupped her breast as the thumb of his other hand easily found its mark.

He didn’t just pinch her nipple, he gave it a severe tug, using it to pull her toward him until their lips met. She clasped his face, hips grinding against his as oblivion inched closer and closer.

A loud, pop startled her and Furia jerked upright once more. “Dios.” A cold spray of bubbles streaked down her shoulder and over her body.

“Fuck, Sol. Don’t stop,” Eli said, lurching forward to suck champagne from her breast. Sharp teeth tugging at her hard nipple restarted her hips.

She leaned back a little, allowing Eli to drizzle more champagne over her. The slick of cold against overheated skin sent a rush through her body. It even sloshed between them, the chill teasing at her clit. “Eli!” she crooned as his hot mouth engulfed her nipple once more with greedy sucks.

To the tune of fireworks rattling the windows, she came. Her hips bucked wildly against his, splashing in the stream of champagne. His free hand tightened around her waist, his grip bruisingly tight. He lapped liquor from her skin until he emptied the bottle. Tossing it aside, he pulled her mouth back to his—into their first kiss of that New Year. He came, groaning something that was likely her name into her mouth.

As he stilled, so did she. Furia fitted her body against his, the frenzy of their kisses fading back toward a tender and familiar playfulness.

“So, what are the chances you’d join me in a bath?” she asked, resting her elbow on his shoulder and setting her chin in her palm.

Eli wrinkled his nose at her. “Shower.”

Furia teased her fingers through his hair to the tune of a pleased purr. “Why?”

“It’s quicker. And easier to eat you out, since I don’t have gills.”

“Eli!”

He grabbed her ass with both hands and pulled her hips hard against his. “Don’t act surprised,” he said, sealing their lips in another kiss.

“Not surprised. Just didn’t realize that was the reason.”

Eli quirked a brow at him. “Plus, the idea of marinating in my own filth. I’ll pass.”

“Ew,” Furia snapped, wrinkling her nose at him. Seriously considering the idea that she might never take a bath again.

“Exactly.”

She wasn’t sure how, but with a little bit of shifting, Eli had them both out of the chair. He let her legs go one at a time, so she could stand on her own two feet, but he didn’t put anymore distance between them than necessary.

He brushed her hair over her shoulder, his eyes on hers. “Happy New Year, Sol,” he said against her lips.

“And to you, mi pavo real.”

Eli chuckled as he kissed her again. His hand on her cheek, fingertips dipping into her hair, and one arm tight around her waist to keep her close—it was slow and deep; one of those soul consuming affairs that somehow left her fuller once their lips parted. As their bodies separated, a loud sound similar to fabric ripping tore through the room, spurred by their laughter. The sugars in the champagne having stuck them together awkwardly. Yes, the shower would definitely be their next stop.


End file.
